All We Need is Daylight

The morning after the game, Frank sees a picture of his face on the front page of the sports section in the school newspaper, and it’s a little disconcerting. It’s not blown up, he’s wearing his helmet so you can’t even really see him, but it’s alarming being in the paper so quick again after the game. He had expected for a little time to go by before seeing himself again.

The article is just fluff, with the purpose of it being to state that Frank’s goal last night was a historical one for the school. Even though they didn’t win the game, Frank has one of the fastest goals in the school’s history, and to top it off, he’d only played a minute of the game.

Frank smiles when he sees Patrick’s name attached to the article, though. He supposes that he could do far worse. Patrick is a good guy, a really good guy, so Frank’s happy that Patrick got a story out of the game, and an exciting one at that. It’s not much, but it’s still something that is pretty newsworthy, if Frank’s being honest. He wishes they’d won the game, though. There would have been a lot more to write about then.

Frank’s weekend passes by very monotonously. He reads textbooks, he writes an essay or two, he reads more textbooks, he goes through a few dozen questions, and he reads more textbooks. He doesn’t leave his dorm for any reason other than to find a new location in which to do his textbook reading. He does go to some interesting places, though. He reads his textbook in the rec center, reads it in the lounge of his dorm, reads it upside down on a couch, reads it in the library, reads it at the ice rink for a while.

At one point, Gerard stops and just stares at Frank, buried in a textbook in one of the uncomfortable seats at the rink. He doesn’t say anything to him, he just watches Frank, highlighter in hand, reading. He doesn’t mean to stare, he just finds Frank kind of peculiar but in a charming sort of way.

Frank puts his hand on his chin when he’s concentrating hard, Gerard’s noticed. It’s a nervous habit of his. He sort of rubs from his neck to his chin, as if there were stubble there, but he’s as hairless as a newborn. It’s kind of adorable though, the things Frank does when he thinks that no one is watching. His defaults are interesting. His resting face is one of bemusement, like he’s always curious or interested in something or other.

Once one week turns into the next, Frank feels like someone has put his life on fast forward. All he feels is the days going by, one by one.

Eventually, Friday comes, Frank feels as though it can’t come fast enough. Gerard’s finally given him permission to play, and Frank is not going to waste the opportunity. Frank has officially been assigned to the same line as Morgan and Pete, and the three of them are starting to form a cohesive strategy. They work well together. Damn well together, in fact.

Off the ice, Morgan and Frank are still not the best of pals. The rest of the team are all starting to turn on Frank too, and he can’t tell why. Morgan’s one of those guys that is scary enough that people will claim to be on his side even if they’re not, because they’re a little bit afraid that he’ll stab them in their sleep. He’s the kind of guy who would joke about killing people, but you aren’t sure if it’s really a joke or not. He’d probably kill a guy for a Gatorade.

Frank is excited when Friday comes, though, as he boards an airplane with the rest of the guys. They’ll drive most places when they have an away game, but Wisconsin is practically the other side of the planet. It’d take a good fifteen hours or so to get there by car, at the very least. Not really a day trip. It’s one of the only games they’re playing this season that will require a flight, though.

Frank doesn’t mind it so much, he’s not super against flying, and it’s not a long flight. It’s about an hour and a half. Frank sits next to Travie and Gerard, and Gerard is not so much of a flight person.

Gerard looks wigged as fuck, and he tells Frank that he would usually take something for his nerves when flying, but the game is tonight and he’s not sure it’d wear off soon enough. His knuckles are white as they grasp firmly to the arm rest which he keeps stealing from Frank.

“Well, at least if we die, it’d make headlines,” Travie says. “Patrick would write a damn good piece about it if he weren’t, ya know, on the same flight.”

Patrick sits across the aisle from them, with Pete and Mikey. Patrick is the only person not on the team whose coming with them to the game. Patrick’s the guy who writes the newspaper, it’d be hard for him to write about the game if he’s not there, especially considering that it’s not televised.

“Would you, I don’t know, maybe considering shutting the fuck up?” Gerard asks him, glaring at Travie from his aisle seat. He’d just about had a panic attack when Frank asked if he wanted to sit by the window. Frank’s not much of a window person either, but he hates sitting in the middle, he feels like a sandwich. Quite conveniently though, Travie smells really nice. Gerard, not so much. Gerard smells like he needs to do laundry.

“I’m just saying,” Travie shrugs. “I’d read that story. ‘Entire hockey team dies in tragic plane crash.’ What a headline.”

“Fuck off,” Gerard groans, closing his eyes, and Frank sort of laughs back at him.

Gerard does not have a happy time when the plane starts to descend once they reach the airport. Honestly, Frank’s a little worried he’s going to puke.

Frank is sure that Gerard doesn’t realize it when it happens, but he instinctually grabs for Frank’s hand as they start to decrease in altitude. Frank’s surprised by it, all the more surprised because his ears just popped and he was trying to deal with that, but then Gerard’s holding his hand and he forgets everything.

Frank literally forgets everything that he has ever known ever about anything. It’s like when someone asks you to name something and then your mind just goes completely blank and you can’t name anything. Except it’s Frank’s entire brain. He doesn’t know anything. He cannot, for the life of him, remember the name of a single one of any of the teachers or professors he has ever had. He can’t name his favorite book. The name of his favorite band is on the tip of his tongue, but it’s staying there and won’t reach his brain. Everything is lost. Hell, Frank can’t remember his own mothers first name.

Frank just looks down at Gerard’s hand, and then at Gerard, whose eyes are clamped shut and he seems to be trying to find his happy place but he’s failing miserably. He clearly doesn’t even know that he’s holding Frank hand, because if he did, he’d snap it away from Frank like he would if he touched a stove.

There’s at least two minutes of complete silence, the silence disrupting the buzz of voices around the plane, but Frank hears none of it. All he hears is his own internal monologue which is periodically transitioning between “AAAAHHHH” and “oh my god,” oddly in Bob Belcher’s voice.

Usually people are relieved when the plane touches the ground, but all Frank can think is that he wishes it could last forever. Eventually, all good things must come to an end.

The plane hits the ground cleanly, and Gerard’s eyes jump open when it does. He looks down for about a fifth of a second before realizing he’s holding Frank’s hand, and then his eyes say it all. He rips his hand from Frank’s, turns bright fucking pink, and then looks anywhere but at Frank.

“You okay?” Frank asks after clearing his voice. It comes out a little pitchy, like an adolescent teenage boy experiencing puberty, but he tries to play it cool by turning a slightly less vibrant shade of pink than Gerard.

“Good, good, fine. I just… I hate planes,” Gerard replies.

“I can see that.”

“Sorry,” Gerard responds.

“It’s fine,” Frank lies. It’s not fine. It’s not fine at all. It’s a big fucking deal. Frank’s heart just started stuttering like mad, and now he’s not sure what to do with his life. All because a boy he likes touched his fucking hand. Frank’s absolutely insane.

The next hour or two are fairly fuzzy, he’s kind of drifting in and out of consciousness. The team make it to their hotel, a rather dumpy one at that. It’s not quite a pay by the hour, but it’s only a prong above. The sheets are slightly yellower than any sheets you would ever want to actually sleep in.

Frank’s assigned to the same room as Ray, not that that surprises him. They’re roommates after all, of course he’d be with Ray. Pete and Patrick are sharing a room, and Frank raises an eyebrow at Pete when Coach hands him his keycard, to which Pete blushes a little bit.

They don’t have any time to settle in however, as they only have enough time to throw their overnight bags into the room before they’re all making their way back to the lobby and getting ready to get to the school. The game starts in three hours, which just means that they’ll be spending a lot of that time sitting in the locker room feeling dread about the game to come.

Wisconsin’s ice rink, it is safe to say, is a little bit nicer. And when the words “a little bit” are used, that of course means that it is quite possibly one of the nicest ice rinks in the entire world. The ice rink at Armstrong, which has been lovingly dubbed as Hell by the student population, has a capacity of 2,000, whereas Wisconsin’s stadium, and it is by every means a stadium, has about 15,000. So, it’s like, a little bit bigger. Frank feels kind of shitty when he actually gets to see it though, because he’s very small, and it is very big.

The team waste time before the game begins, finally get their chance to do their warmup, and the crowd is thin when they hit the ice. It’s definitely going to fill up more when the game actually starts, but already there’s probably about the same number of people just for the warmup as there were for the actual game at Armstrong. Then again, Wisconsin has a better team so more people actually want to see them play.

“This one’s going to be a doozy,” Frank says in passing to Ray.

Pete comes up from behind him, Frank hadn’t even known he was there, to say, “but at least we actually have a shot at winning, now that you’re here.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Frank groans, jabbing Pete in the ribs with his stick, but in a friendly kind of way. In the way that he has learned is meant as a sign of endearment for your friends.

Despite Pete’s optimism, they lose the game. Quite enormously. They lose by three whole goals. They don’t even make a single goal the entire game, though it’s not for a lack of trying. The other team is just better. Frank is trying his hardest, really, but it seems like he just can’t catch a break. Whatever he does, it’s not good enough.

Frank’s never felt so out of place in hockey skates before. He’s never felt outmatched. Frank has never, in his entire hockey career, felt like he’s played a team that was hands down betterthan him. He’s felt that he’s played teams that were worse than him, teams that were about the same as him, but never a team that was just all around better. Wisconsin just completely tramples them. They never even stood a chance. It’s a miserable, helpless, embarrassing loss.

It’s also quite a hit to Frank’s ego. Frank is used to being the best, used to being the best guy out there, but today proves that he has some competition. His team, or at least some of his team, is genuinely trying, and it’s almost enough but at the last second it proves to be just too little.

Frank doesn’t like the feeling of being overpowered, and outmatched. It’s not a good feeling. Last week, he’d only gotten to play a minute, so he never got the chance to feel like it was his skills that were being out-maneuvered, but now it feels like a direct blow, right to his stomach.

Frank gets off the ice at the end of the game feeling pathetic. He feels really little, tiny, like a little kid after losing a game. It’s not a good feeling, and it’s one that he’s determined not to feel again if he can help it.

Even when he did get beaten in high school it didn’t feel this bad. That was high school though, high school is a whole lot less official and important than college. High school hockey is a pastime, it’s a night out. College hockey is a big fucking deal. It’s exclusive, very hard to get onto a team unless you’re good enough. It’s a lot more strenuous, the competition is much fiercer, and there’s a whole hell of a lot more at stake.

In high school hockey, if you make it to the final game, which, if you’re lucky, is statewide, all you get is maybe some local TV coverage, maybe a byline after the weather report on the local station the next morning. It’s nothing big.

If you make it to so much as the final sixteen teams in college hockey, it’s huge. If you make it to the frozen four, fucking hell, you’re practically a celebrity. Now, if you win, you are guaranteed to have someone in the NHL glance at you. You may not get scouted, you’re more likely not to than you are to get scouted, but someone important might actually know you name. Someone like Gretzky might actually recognize your existence. College hockey is a big fucking deal. It may not be the NHL, and the NCAA tournament may not be the Stanley Cup, but it sure as hell is the road to get there.

It is safe to say that Frank has a lot of trouble getting to sleep that night. It’s not just because of the nasty ass sheets, or the really disgusting sewer smell that’s coming from the shower. Both of those things are contributing factors, and so is what Frank thinks must be Pete’s snoring from the room adjacent to theirs, because apparently, the walls are paper thin. Mostly, Frank just can’t but help feeling like a failure. They’re three whole games into the season, and so far, they have lost every single one. It’s a bit of a downer.

That depression drags into Frank’s weekend. On Saturday, Frank has actually gotten almost all of the backlog of his work done. He’s read all the chapters, he might have skimmed his chemistry textbook if he’s being honest, but he got the gist of it. He’s done several essays, learned an awful lot about Kenneth Bianchi, which is information that he honestly didn’t need in his life, but he’s slogging along at the very least.

At least by Saturday, he feels like he can actually give himself a break. It’s just a little break, nothing much, but he decides that he’s going to actually do something tonight. He’s ready to have the social life that he’s been putting off having for the past eighteen years.

Frank makes his way over to Pete’s dorm, a route where he’s pretty much carved a path to in the sidewalk. He seems to be visiting Pete almost every day for something or other, Pete’s actually really helpful when it comes to studying, he’s good at explaining things. He’s both street smart and book smart, but you wouldn’t be able to tell unless you dig past the surface, which is a dopey one.

When Frank makes it to the dorm, he knocks, having learned his lesson after last time. A voice says “come in” and when Frank opens the door, he sees Patrick, sitting against the wall on his bed, reading a book, and not a textbook, which makes Frank a little jealous because he hasn’t found the free time to read an actual book since like sophomore year of high school.

“Hey, Frank. How’s it going?” Patrick asks.

“Eh,” Frank shrugs, “Could be better. The game last night sucked.”

Patrick nods, in agreement. The whole team had been fairly quiet and dejected on the plane this morning, no one really had much to say after last night’s defeat. Patrick managed to kick out a piece about it that was hopeful, but the hope was clearly misplaced. He’s trying his best. Honestly, trying to make this team look like anything other than what it is, shit, is a hard job.

“Yeah, man. It sucks, but you tried your hardest out there.”

“I know I did,” Frank says, “not sure about the rest of the team, though.”

Frank had definitely felt like he’d been alone out there yesterday. He was playing pretty much as hard as he could, but the rest of the team was not giving it the same all that he had been giving it. Morgan definitely gave it his all, that certainly cannot be denied, because he may be a dick but he’s a dick who does really love the team. Some of the other guys, however, did not follow in Morgan’s lead. Mikey especially seemed to really drain himself by only the second period, which was a bit of a bummer, because it was on his shift that two of the other team’s three goals passed the net. They probably got themselves down before the game even begun, which is another huge flaw with the team.

The team need some work, some oil around the rusty bits, but what would really help was if they actually had morale. They seem to have lost it a long time ago, and that’s one of the biggest barriers in the way of their winning anything. They can’t win a game that they refuse to try their hardest on. That’s one thing Frank’s been meaning to talk to Gerard about.

“We’ll get there,” Patrick says, looking uncertain, as he shrugs.

“I’d love to see that, but until the day comes, I can’t quite believe it.”

Patrick frowns and then sets his book down, looking back at Frank, “did you come here for something?”

“I was wondering if Pete was doing anything tonight,” Frank says, “I need a serious break from studying.” Frank’s spent every single day of the past week just slaving away, getting very little sleep, doing way too much work, and putting way too much effort into even the little things. Frank’s a perfectionist, he always has been, but what’s the point of doing anything if you don’t give it your all? You might as well not do it at all if you’re going to half ass something.

“Uh, Pete went to the gym a little while ago,” Patrick says, then checks the clock, “he should be getting back soon. I don’t think he’s doing anything tonight. You can wait here if you want, though, he usually comes back around now.”

“Yeah?” Frank asks, and he shrugs, accepting Patrick’s invitation. Patrick invites him with a gesture of his hand for Frank to sit at the desk which Frank knows to be Patrick’s. Frank does sit, and then he brings his hands together, and looks around the room for something to talk about.

Frank looks at some of the books on Patrick’s desk, and he notes the ones he’s read. There’s some Oscar Wilde, quite a few classics, but also a lot of science fiction. Patrick must be an H.G. Wells fan if his multiple different copies of The Time Machine are any indication.

Frank is struck with an idea, not because of any particular thing, but because his brain is playing leap frog.

Frank still hasn’t told either Pete or Patrick about his own secret. He hasn’t come out to anyone, not a soul. Here he has Patrick now, all alone, and this is a prime opportunity for him to let somebody know.

Frank thinks on it for a few minutes, and he comes up with fewer cons than pros. Thinking analytically doesn’t do much to quell his emotions, though, so he has a thought or two about how he would feel about it if Patrick were to know. He decides that telling Patrick right now will mean that he will walk out of that door later feeling better than if he doesn’t. He’s almost certain of what Patrick’s response to that news will be, a kind and accepting one, so there’s very little stopping him from telling. If it were someone else, Frank would have a lot to lose, but since it’s Patrick, there’s not nearly as much.

“Hey, Patrick, can I talk to you about something?” Frank asks, saying the words before his brain rethinks itself and gives him a reason not to. It’s almost a commitment for him to have to say it. He’s looking definitively nervous, just thinking about what he might be about to do, it’s very unnerving.

“Totally,” Patrick responds.

Frank nods, tries to psych himself up. “Is it alright if I close the door?”

“Oh, um, yeah,” Patrick says, looking back at him, a lot more interested now. It must be something juicy if Frank’s worried about someone listening in. Not that Patrick would ever exploit Frank like that, but it makes him more excited to hear what Frank has to say.

Frank stands up, and walks the short distance to the door. He checks the hallway, but no one is there, or at least no one who he cares about. Frank closes the door and then stands awkwardly in the room, feeling very much uncomfortable, and the fact that Patrick is as socially inept as he is definitely isn’t helping the situation any. Frank goes back to the chair he’d been sitting in, then looks at Patrick, struggling to make eye contact so he instead focuses in on the bridge of Patrick’s nose, hoping he won’t be able to tell the difference.

“So, what’s this about?” Patrick asks.

Frank takes a deep breath. “Well, it’s, it’s sort of about you and Pete, but mostly not.”

“Oh,” Patrick replies. He had really hoped that Frank might let the whole him and Pete thing go. Now he’s sure that Frank is about to interview him about gayness or something else equally as uncomfortable and invasive. Patrick is going to do his best to be cordial, but he’s sure he’s going to be very awkward about it.

“Well, see, okay, so it’s not that I can’t talk to Pete about this. It’s not that I don’t trust him, because I do, it’s just that, well, I don’t want anyone on the team to know, okay? Like I’m just… I’m nervous that he’ll let it slip, or that he’ll look at me differently, or something else stupid that I know I shouldn’t be paranoid about but I am anyway.”

“Okay?”

Frank takes another couple of deep breaths, still not entirely sure that he wants to do this, but nevertheless, he thinks it’s time. He thinks that Patrick is probably the best possible option for him to reveal all of this to, because Patrick is probably the nicest guy Frank actually knows. Patrick is kinder than Pete, not to say that Pete isn’t nice, it’s just that Patrick is very pure and sweet in all respects. Pete is a little bit riskier, to a certain extent. Pete also seems like he’d have a harder time keeping a secret than Patrick does. Patrick is naturally more quiet, less likely to let it slip if he doesn’t talk as much as Pete does in the first place.

“And it’s not like I won’t tell him, it’s just, I’ve been putting this off for a really long time, and I’m going to be honest with you, Patrick, I trust you. I trust you a lot. You’re the kind of guy who is just, like, trustworthy, you know? Who you can keep a secret with and won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you?” Patrick asks, squinting his eyes, not sure if that’s the right response or if Frank even wanted a response.

“What I say to you cannot leave this room, okay? Not under any circumstances whatsoever. Absolutely none.”

“Alright,” Patrick says, feeling wary about agreeing to something before he’s heard the butt end of whatever it is he’s agreeing to.

“So, okay,” Frank starts, feeling trepidation, “So no one in the world knows what I’m about to tell you. Not a single soul. Not my own mother. You’ll be the only person on this entire planet, in this whole fucking solar system who will know the information that I’m about to give you.”

Patrick nods, feeling ever more uncertain about agreeing to not telling anyone. He’s actually a little bit nervous for whatever Frank has to say, because whatever it is, it has to be something big for Frank to go through all of this very apparent nervousness and a confidentially oath.

“So, here goes,” Frank says, looking about ready to puke. He doesn’t calm his breathin,g but he calms his breathing, can feel the worry in his own stomach. He closes his eyes and gulps, before ripping the band aid off. “I’m… I’m gay.”

“Oh,” Patrick says, with a look of realization that flashes across his face with a hint of relief. “Okay, yeah.”

Frank opens his eyes to evaluate Patrick’s expression and he seems surprised by the news but also understanding, and it’s a hopeful look for Frank to see. His heart is still beating a mile a minute, but at least he doesn’t feel that bubbling in his stomach like he’s about to hurl.

“And, I’m telling you because you are too, so I mean, I know that that’s not going to scare you. And like I said, I can, or at least, I hope, that I can trust you with that information.”

“Absolutely!” Patrick says, “definitely! I would never dream of telling anyone. No one. Not even Pete. Not if you say not to.”

“Yeah?” Frank feels a sensation rushing into his veins, like it’s being pumped in from an IV, and it feels a lot like relief. He’s told someone his secret. And he’s not dead. Someone knows, and he’s okay with it. He’s nice about it. Someone in the world knows Frank’s secret. He’s honestly so pumped up with adrenaline and incredulity that he can’t tell how he feels about anything other than that he feels relieved for someone else to know.

“Yes, Frank. You’re keeping my secret, I will keep yours, without a doubt.”

“Right, wow,” Frank says. “That was… that was a lot easier than I thought it would be.”

“I hope I wasn’t making it hard,” Patrick replies, “’Cause I get it Frank. I get how hard it is to come out, and especially for you, in the place that you are. It must be so hard for you. Pete only fessed up because I told him first, but you, you just came out and said it. I’m really honored that I’m the first person you’ve told, Frank, it means a lot to me that you would trust me that much.”

“Well, I do,” Frank says, “you’ve got one of those faces.” Patrick’s got a baby face, maybe that’s why he seems so trustworthy. You definitely couldn’t trust him to keep a dead body a secret, or to help you bury it, because he’s too honest to ever aid in something like that, but he can handle a secret like this, one that doesn’t effect anyone but Frank.

Frank just feels so free. He feels like he’s taken a large weight off of himself. Feels like when you take a heavy textbook out of your backpack and then walk around feeling like you’ve lost the weight of a building.

Patrick knows, and of all the people in the world who could know, Frank’s glad it’s Patrick. He wishes it were Gerard, and that Gerard was okay about it, but since he can’t have that, he’s happy for Patrick to know, and for Patrick to be so kind about it. He’s just so glad that someone knows and that he isn’t carrying a secret as huge as this by himself. He’s not alone anymore. Someone actually knows. This feeling is an amazing one, an absolutely fantastic one.

“I just can’t believe someone knows. It’s been so long, and, like, finally someone knows.”

Frank feels the same way that he felt that one time when he met Billie Joe Armstrong. Very much astonished, a little high on excitement, ecstatic, and just completely bewildered.

While Frank is marinating in the feeling of freedom, the gears in Patrick’s brain start to spin, and he makes a realization or two of his own.

“Frank, there’s something that I want to talk to you about, actually,” Patrick says.

Frank, confused, looks back at him and asks, “What is it?”

“Well, it’s… okay, so you have the right to say no, and completely and utterly refuse, get mad at me if you need to, I just want to know if I can ask you to… do something for me?”

“I’m listening,” Frank responds, curious now.

“Well, okay, so for a while now, I mean three years’ worth of a while, Pete’s been, he’s been really beaten up over his, you know, not being able to tell anyone. He’s felt really super alone. He just feels like no one else in the world understands and it’s really beaten him down, because, you know, he wants there to be someone else like him, just one person.”

“You want me to tell Pete,” Frank concludes.

“No, that’s not what I was going to ask. Honestly, I believe you’ll tell Pete all on your own without me having to ask you to, because I bet you want to have someone to talk to who’s on the team just as much as he does. That’s not what this is about, though, this is something… bigger. A lot bigger.”

Frank furls his eyebrows together, not seeing the picture that Patrick is painting quite yet.

“So, the thing is, a while ago, I asked Pete if I could interview him, for the paper. I wanted to write an article about there being a hockey player who was gay. Anonymous of course, I don’t want him to ruin his life by slapping his name all over it, but I just thought, wouldn’t it be something, such an inspiration for not only any other gay hockey players at this school, but any other gay sports players, wouldn’t it be amazing for them to know that they’re not alone? I don’t want to pressure someone into coming out if they don’t want to, I just want people to know that they’re not alone, and I want them to know that there’s nothing wrong with them.”

“You want to interview me,” Frank states.

“Yeah, kind of,” Patrick replies. “Pete said he wouldn’t do it. He said that he was too scared of someone finding out that it was him. He said no. I never wanted to pressure him so I only ever asked him once, but he seemed pretty determined about not wanting to do it.”

“I don’t know, Patrick,” Frank says, putting his hand on his neck, and feeling kind of nervous all of a sudden.

“It’d be anonymous! Completely anonymous. I could even put a disclaimer saying that, like, I don’t even know who the player actually is, I just got, emailed or something by them? It’s a lie, sure, but if it would protect you I’m willing to do it.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Frank says, “I’m just not sure I want to be the one who would do that. Cause what if someone did find out? What would I do if my secret got out?”

“No one would find out. There’s sixteen guys on that team. You don’t stand apart from any of the other guys! I just want others to have hope. There are so many people at this school, so many sports teams, but in the entire student population, there is not a single openly gay sports player on any team, of any sport. Not a single one. Not just for boy’s teams, there’s no girls who are out either. For them, and I’m sure there’s got to be a good dozen or so, they have no one. They probably can’t tell anyone. They’re in the same boat as you and Pete, they’re completely alone. I don’t want them to have to feel that way when I can offer them some hope.”

“Patrick, I don’t know ab-” Frank is interrupted when the door opens a moment later. Pete doesn’t knock when he comes through the door, probably because it’s his room. Also, because he wouldn’t be too bothered walking in on Patrick naked. He might even be into it.

“Frank!” Pete says when he sees Frank sitting there. Pete’s got that ever-present Cheshire Cat smile of his, wide enough to light up the night sky. “Just the man I wanted to see!”

“Me?” Frank asks.

“Yeah, you dude,” Pete replies. “It’s trivia night at the café, man.”

“It’s what now?” Frank asks.

“Trivia night, motherfucker!” Pete says, looking excited.

“I forgot all about it,” Patrick says, Frank looks back at him, his face a blank, not revealing any of the conversation that transpired between the two of them. Frank sighs in relief at that, glad that Pete won’t suspect anything just happened. He will tell Pete, soon probably, but not right now. Frank’s already come out once today, the first time in his life, he needs a little time to recharge for the next time.

“Okay?” Frank asks.

“We need a fourth for our team, dude!” Pete says, “Travie’s got a date, I need someone to fill in for him! So, what do you say, are you in or are you in?”

“I’m not that good at trivia,” Frank replies.

“Winning team gets a twenty-five-dollar gift card for coffee!” Pete says, and if that’s not convincing then Frank doesn’t know what it is.

“You had me at free money,” Frank replies.

“Great!” Pete says. “I’ll let Gerard know!”

Frank’s heart either sinks or flies at the sound of Gerard’s name. Gerard being on their trivia team makes the whole night a completely different thing. If Gerard’s not there, it’s Frank hanging out with two of his best friends, answering trivia questions and having fun. If Gerard is there, it’s a whole lot of awkward eye contact and heart fluttering and breathing problems and gawking. If Gerard’s there, though, the night’s going to be a whole hell of a lot more fun.

Notes

Thanks for reading guys, please leave a comment for free telepathic hugs!